Chapter 4: All the Lonely People

TW: mention of homophobia, death

The end of the week rolls in much quicker than it usually does, and George couldn't be more amused to see that Eleanor had held up her end of the loose-threat she'd made before detention. He can practically feel her eyes on him- in the Great Hall, in Charms Class, in Defense Against the Dark Arts, the only class where its most noticeable, since they sit at tables directly across from each other at the back of the classroom.

She's unrelenting. He finds that it's rather admirable.

Fred, Lee, and the girls seem to take it all in stride, though he assumes this game of cat-and-mouse is getting tiresome with all the hostility aimed his way. He's not the only person in Gryffindor aware of a Ravenclaw sending unwavering stares at their table, but many of his housemates seem to believe that it's an appropriate response to another trick from the Weasley twins in which, really, little harm, little to no foul.

"She's gone quite mad for you," Fred whispers in his ear, jerking his head over to Eleanor, who's staring at him so undeniably he thinks she may burst a vein. His twin's plate refills itself not with seconds, but thirds of their breakfast and his eyes light up at the sight of another serving of eggs.

George smirks. "I think she's quite mad at me."

"Same difference."

"You think so?"

"I know so, George. Ladies can't resist the Weasley charm, I mean, look at Charlie, for Godric's sake!"

George gives his brother a playful shove, shaking his head in dismay at his uncouthness. He does think about Charlie, his sensitive nature and cool-headed exterior seemingly magnetic to single, eligible witches across the board, though he's never shown the least bit of interest in pursuit. Perhaps his older brother would be a better person to ask about how to woo a lady, since the only problem Charlie had ever faced when it came to women was fending them off.

Next time I see him, he tells himself inwardly, biting down on some toast. I'll just ask for a bit of advice. No harm in asking an expert, is there?

"Believe it or not, I think our chat before detention was rather helpful," he says to Fred, his tone soft and earnest. "At least I know what she's thinking. All I have to do is prove her wrong."

"Proving a Ravenclaw wrong…that's almost commendable. You know it's pointless, don't you?"

"Nothing's impossible."

"But this might be."

"Maybe. But we're Gryffindors, aren't we? Since when has a little challenge bogged us down?"

Fred lets out a hum through his nose, and he looks back at the Vance family two tables away. The only member of the trio staring at them is Eleanor; her brothers occupying themselves with their own conversation beside her.

"Four years of you doing everything in the book to catch her attention, and no results," Fred confesses under his breath, just loud enough for those closest to him to hear. "I mean, I get it. It's a load of fun, chasing after a pretty girl. But there's a ton of witches who'd give you a chance right from the start, Georgie."

Lee nods in agreement. "For once, I'm with Fred on this one. And she's a bit off, I hear. You know what their own housemates call them, don't you?"

George furrows his brows together. He never talks about Eleanor beyond his group of friends, if only because he knows their peers are hardly the sort to maintain discretion, and Eleanor would probably hate him even more if she caught wind of any rumors.

He wasn't aware that anybody else had any opinions on the Vance's. In fact, Lee's suggestion catches him slightly off-guard, because it never occurred to him that anybody else at Hogwarts had really paid the Ravenclaw siblings any attention at all.

"What? Like, a nickname or something?" he asks Lee.

" 'The Skeleton Twins.' Y'know, because they look sort of…"

"Sort of what?"

Lee tilts his head to either side of his shoulders, his dreadlocks waving about as his hands move in the air like he's grasping for the right words. "Y'know…" he says weakly. He sucks in his cheeks exaggeratedly and rolls his eyes upwards like a corpse, and George is hardly a genius, but he puts the pieces together.

Angelina stabs the boy in the knee with the blunt edge of her fork, her nostrils flaring indignantly. "That's terrible, Lee, and I better not hear that you've gone on repeating that rubbish."

"I'm just telling him what other people say! I didn't say I called 'em that," Lee squawks, nursing his hand over his leg with soothing circles. "…But they do, don't they? You've seen those photographs in the paper of prisoners in Azkaban. They sort of look like that. Like they've never smiled a day in their lives."

"Lee!"

"What, a man can't have an opinion, anymore?!"

"Not if it's crude, you dickhead."

George can't help but tune them out. Lee's sentiment is crude, and it is rubbish, but he can't find it within himself to care very much. His eyes aimlessly wander over to the Ravenclaw table and they meet Eleanor's, whose gaze narrows with the realization that she's being watched right back. He's tempted to give her a wink, but he thinks better of it.

Skeleton Twins. He doesn't really know how to feel about the term, knowing that it's far from a compliment, but it's not exactly untrue. With the exception of the youngest brother, Alfie- who sort of looks like one of those baby cherubs from Italian paintings- he can see where Ben and Eleanor do look a bit frail. But if anything, he thinks it makes them look different; unique. Eleanor sticks out among all the others, regardless of where they are, even in a room crowded with hundreds of people. There's something distinct and refined about the way the Vance's hold themselves, a characteristic that couldn't be further from the loudness of the Weasley family, that reminds him of the feeling one gets when they take a Calming Draught.

George waves at her. She doesn't wave back, but she doesn't scowl. It's always the same scenario on a different day, but he thinks there's been slight improvement between them. The slightest.

"…and I reckon it's strange, the way they're so close," George hears a stranger's voice say arrogantly to Alicia and Angelina, only catching the very end of the conversation. Turning his head, he sees Cormac McLaggen, who must've inserted himself into their discussion while he was otherwise distracted. The Fourth-Year's face is twisted with a foul expression like he's just taken a sip of spoiled milk.

"Brothers and sisters shouldn't be that close, even if they're twins. But truthfully, I think both the Vance boys are poofs," Cormac continues. Angelina looks completely unimpressed by his statements, and George can tell she's seconds away from losing her temper on the basis of being interrupted. Alicia sends a nervous glance to George's way.

"McLaggen, who in the hell was talking to you?" George suddenly blurts out with a scowl. "Haven't you got your own friends to blather on with?"

Cormac wraps on the table with his knuckles and offers a casual shrug. "I couldn't help but overhear you all talking about the Vance's," he replies innocently. "Just thought I'd say what everyone was thinking."

"And what is that, exactly?"

"Well, it's obvious that those twins are a bit too close for comfort, if you know what I mean. One might even think it's a bit twisted, but I mean, look at 'em. Ben, he's bent, you can just sort of tell."

George scoffs. "You're a rancid little prat, aren't you?" he asks snappily, his hands forming fists next to his plate.

Fred nods, and glares at Cormac until he's fidgeting in his chair. "Mind your own business, mate."

"For once."

"Honestly."

McLaggen rolls his eyes and snorts indelicately, shrugging again. "Why? If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a poof, too. Getting so defensive over someone like that."

George has heard more than enough, and he and Fred both lean across the table menacingly until the boy recoils. "I'd watch your mouth if I were you. I'm bigger, stronger, and there's two of us and one of you," George retorts, feeling himself becoming more and more agitated at the sight of Cormac's self-righteous little sneer. He thinks it'd pair much better with a broken nose. "Go bother the two friends you've got, and fuck off."

Cormac snorts. "You've got no sense of humor, mate. What's got you so bent out of shape?"

"Keep talking, McLaggen, and the only person who's going to have something shoved up their ass is you."

Fred grins viciously at his twin. "We'll give you such a good arse-kicking, you'll be tasting our shoes for weeks," he adds cheerily.

"You'll be choking on our laces."

"And when that's done, we can always do what we've done on the Quidditch pitch…"

"…We're called Beaters for a reason, after all."

Cormac's smirk has completely fallen off his face, and his skin turns an awful shade of red from the tip of his ears down to his neck. "Merlin's beard," he growls out, rising from his seat and shoving his satchel over his shoulder. "You've got frog brains, the lot of you."

Fred and George erupt into laughs, slapping at each other and gasping in feigned shock at Cormac's insult. "You hear that, Georgie? We've got frog brains!"

"Not frog brains!"

Fred pries his eyelids open with his fingers until they're bulging from his skull, and he lets out a gasp. "Oh…oh no…ribbit, ribbit!" he mocks.

"Fred," George exclaims in feigned horror, gripping onto his brother's hands. "What was that, that first ribbit, mate? What are you trying to say, speak to us from beyond your froggy depths!"

He lets out a series of guttural noises and a belch, and George nods at him in understanding.

"Hmm..I think in frog-language, that means, 'why don't you bugger off and jot down some more creative comebacks for next time, McLaggen?'" he says smarmily over his shoulder as Cormac takes his embarrassed leave.

Fred nods in vehement agreement, ribbiting so ferociously even Alicia and Angelina can't help but giggle at the stupidity of the situation. They're all grinning at each other, and it feels good, making his friends laugh at the expense of some random idiot who'd spoken out of turn too familiarly for comfort.

George thinks it almost makes up for the fact that there's one person at Hogwarts he's yet to even startle a smile from.

Fred walks to Transfiguration Class rather enthusiastically for a Friday afternoon. He always finds himself with a bit of pep in his step after a good laugh, his body jittering with unreleased energy. He'd give anything to watch McLaggen's smile fall off of his face just one more time, but he knows that if he plays his cards right, he'll certainly see it again. Twats like Cormac are never in short supply, but Merlin, the satisfaction of putting one in their place is a different kind of joy.

Maybe it's hypocritical, calling other people aresholes when he knows he and George certainly don't stray far from the title. And maybe it's even more hypocritical to interject when someone like Cormac starts spewing malicious hearsay when he's hardly a good example of 'moral goodness.'

He wonders if George would've even bothered had the topic not pertained to Eleanor and her family. He doesn't know, perhaps his brother's own personal bias is even worse than he thought. Fred decides it doesn't matter- Angelina had cornered him not so soon after George had a meltdown about how to woo his distant crush, and she repeated a similar sentiment to him alone. He, too, was at an age where he needed to start acting like a gentleman, and though he's not sure he is, he believes he'd done something akin to what a gentleman would do.

Fred arrives in Professor McGonagall's classroom a minute after class has begun, and he's met with a begrudging finger-wag from his instructor. "Mr. Weasley," she says sternly, and a few people to turn their heads towards the door. "So kind of you to join us."

A better student, a better person, would apologize to the woman for his tardiness. But he's still Fred Weasley, after all- unlike his twin, he's under no such guise that he needs to change his whole personality for anyone. "Anything for you, Professor McGonagall!" he replies gleefully, not bothering to comment on his own lateness. "Couldn't imagine a better way to end my week than with my very favorite class."

It's an obvious load of Hippogriff-dung, even to his own ears, but it gets an easy laugh out of his classmates. It's all part of the fun, Fred knows- everyone in all of his courses knows he and George would rather be anywhere else, most of their professors wish they were anywhere else, but when they choose to arrive, they do so with an exaggerated amount of enthusiasm nobody shares.

He gives a small two-finger-salute over to George across the lecture hall, McGonagall's semi-assigned seating (an arrangement that seems to only pertain to the Weasley's) intentionally forces him as far from his brother that the room will allow. George nods back, a slight question in his eyes at his twin's tardy arrival. Fred winks, and George's grin broadens.

Though his comment to Professor McGonagall had been in jest, Transfiguration is a favorite class of his. He and George have a particular talent for the science of spell-work though they don't care much for the endless amount of homework, and their Head of House is one of the only teachers at Hogwarts who tolerates the Weasley twins, which certainly counts for something.

His eyes scan for an open seat anywhere in the classroom, and he's surprised to see that the only open chair is next to Ben Vance, of all people. He takes a seat next to the boy, giving him a nod of acknowledgment, and is met with no reply.

"Today, we'll be going over a rather important lesson exclusively reserved for Fifth-Year students. As a reminder, and a reminder I will continue to make until the end of the term because I simply cannot stress its importance, this year is the most influential year that will pave the path to the futures that await you," Professor McGonagall proclaims.

"Our lesson for this class, and the classes soon after, will be on the Vanishing Spell. This particular charm is incredibly fickle, and one that shan't be tampered with lightly," she went on to explain. Their teacher grabs for the wand tucked in the sleeve of her robes, and she walks over to the demonstration table in front of the room. Waving her hand in a wide, squiggling motion over its wooden surface, she clears her throat. "Evanesco."

Fred's spine straightens as the table disappears in front of his eyes, not a smidge of evidence or remains left behind. McGonagall waves a hand over the space as if to prove it has vanished completely, and several classmates "ooo" at her work.

"The Vanishing Spell does not simply force things into disappearance, as its name may lead you to believe," Professor McGonagall warns. "The purpose of this spell is to turn something, both of the animate and inanimate varieties, into a state of nothingness…a state of non-being. It can be utilized on a wide variety of things not limited to objects, or things that we can touch," she says, pointing to the table. "One can cast this upon an image, and its entirety will be gone forever. With a lot of effort, you could also cast this on a person, or even a ghost, if you're in need of expelling one from your home. Is it any wonder that Hogwarts has so few when so many poor souls have lost their lives in this castle? It would be very crowded, one should think. Vanishing ghosts will be a lesson later in the term."

Ben Vance, sitting beside Fred with stiffened shoulders and an indecipherable expression, raises his hand. "Can I ask you a question, professor?"

"Of course."

"So, perhaps somebody has died. If their…if their ghost stays behind, they'll be vanished? And that's why there aren't as many ghosts around as you'd assume?"

Professor McGonagall gives him a sympathetic smile, and her eyes crinkle. "An excellent question, Mr. Vance. Perhaps this will provide better context. Though many unfortunate individuals have lost their lives in this castle, not all of them wish to stay. In fact, most do not, and many that are unable to move on wish to be gone completely. One misplaced ghost, in particular, wished to leave because in his own words, Hogwarts proved terribly boring in the summer. Vanishing them, with their permission, is an act of mercy."

A few awkward laughs ring out among the class, but Ben does not seem appeased by this answer. "So, in the case of a ghost. The…the ghosts that are still here, they chose not to be vanished? Because they wanted to stay behind?"

"Not exactly," the older woman replies even more softly. "As it pertains to the afterlife, the Vanishing Spell is only used to remove ghosts that are stuck here, perhaps having unfinished business or loose ends from their time alive. We also vanish ghosts that pose direct harm, or an undue disturbance, to Hogwarts. As you can imagine, many a witch and wizard have walked through these halls, not all of them as pleasant as all of you. We use this spell to remove things we intend to cease from existence, for whatever purpose that may be."

Ben's mouth twists into a frown, and seeing this, their professor walks over to the table shared between him and Fred, and she offers him a pitying look.

"I believe you may be forgetting that not all people who pass on become ghosts, Mr. Vance. And not all ghosts that do stay behind are meant to be amongst us. It is in my experience that many souls move on without any explanation at all, even when they have attachments to the physical world. A Vanishing Spell does not harm them, or cause them pain because they are incapable of such," McGonagall explains. "The fickle nature of the Vanishing Spell pertains more to how it affects living, breathing things. This is precisely why this lesson is taught to Fifth-Years, and no sooner. One can cause serious harm to a person, an animal, or a creature, with its use."

A Slytherin girl raises her hand. "What would happen?" she asks. "Would someone just disappear?"

"No. Like this table, whilst it was not a living thing… it will cease from existence entirely. It cannot be recovered, in the way you may see with an Eradication Spell. There is no countercharm, no recovery for something vanished forever."

The class grows quiet; wary, even. Fred feels hardly any worry for himself, knowing it will surely come as easily to him as everything else in Transfiguration does, but he understands that plenty of his peers can hardly say the same.

"I would like you all to select a snail at the front of the room as your target, and practice this spell with the individuals at your tables. I believe it may be difficult to accomplish this task on the first day, but today will serve as a blank assessment of your skill," Professor McGonagall instructs, clasping her hands together as her students begin to rise from their seats, eagerness replacing their trepidation as their eyes already wander around for supplies.

Fred lifts himself from his chair and stretches his arms above him. Yawning loudly, his eyes dart to his periphery, and take in the slump to Ben's shoulders as he doesn't so much as budge in his seat.

"Benny-boy," he sing-songs, kicking a foot onto his chair. "How are we, this Friday?"

Ben blinks at him, expression unchanging. "...Fine."

A beat of silence rings between them, and he notices him crane his neck around the room, perhaps looking for a new partner. Fred hates any amount of awkward quietude, and a part of him thinks perhaps he should be taking advantage of his partner because of who he is. Maybe it'd help George's endless pursuit out a bit, carving at the Vance's nearly-impenetrable walls and becoming a little more…well-acquainted.

"'Hello Fred, I'm well, how are you?" he asks himself aloud in a mimicking-baritone voice. Ben's eyes flash to his, catching the tease in his voice. "'Oh, Benjamin, quite alright, thank you so much for asking.'"

Ben looks away, arms folded across his chest and his shoe bouncing off the floor anxiously. Fred knows the boy is probably sending alarmed glances at his sister, who's sitting somewhere closer to the back of the room, with eyes pleading for help. Fred simply grins. "That's what a conversation between two people sounds like, in case you don't know."

"Got it."

"Oh come on, your sister and my brother've gone on and served a whole detention together, that's grounds for friendship between us, surely!"

"She…she only got into trouble because of him, in case you've forgotten," Ben bites out, whipping around in his chair and immediately adjusting back, glancing down at the ground.

"If my memory serves me correctly, she was the one attempting to strangle him through a bookshelf. She tell you that?"

Ben's bouncing foot stills, and he shifts uncomfortably, turning his head to Fred with a furrow in his brow. "Of course she told me, obviously," he lies. "She also told me he was watching her while toting around a book about witch's anatomy."

"You and Eleanor really seem to have a preoccupation with George's select choice in literature."

"Because it's odd. And frankly, when my sister told me, I was very surprised to hear that either of you knew how to read."

A startled laugh escapes Fred's mouth before he can reason whether or not he should feel insulted, but upon a second thought and recognition of Ben's own bewildered expression at the sound, he decides it was funny, after all. "Maybe you've got a sense of humor," Fred tells him appraisingly. "Good for you, mate. I can already feel the buds of friendship between us grow abloom."

Ben sighs through his nose, his sharp jaw ticking to the side. "Can you…just fetch us a snail, please? We don't have to talk. At all."

Fred clutches at his chest. "Ouch, Ben. Our first fight, only seconds after solidifying our relationship," he replies cheerily and rises from his seat. "You'll be happy to hear I'm the forgiving sort. I'm willing to give you a second chance. Or is this your third, after the whole Chocolate Cauldrons situation?"

He leaves Ben there to ponder his words and practically skips off, not turning to see what he knows will be another one of Vance's infamously troubled expressions, and picks out a big, slimy snail from the glass display case at the front of the room. He cringes as he pries the snail from the surface it'd adhered itself to, a long strand of snail trail dragging behind its shell as he places it in his hand. "Sorry, little bugger," he tells it with a coo, stroking its tiny antennae-like eyes. "You're about to meet a rather unfortunate demise."

He walks back to their table and sets it down on the wooden surface, and Ben is looking at the snail as if Fred has just splayed out one of his father's Wizengamot books from the Ministry. "What?" he asks Ben. "Don't like insects?"

"I-it's not."

"Huh?"

"A snail. It's not an insect," Ben says quietly, eyes darting all over the place. "Snails are gastropods. It's different."

Fred slaps a hand at his forehead in disbelief. "Thank you, all-knowing Ravenclaw, I can't believe I've forgotten," he says to him in shock. "How could I ever forget such an important fact about snails?! Blimey, little guy, I apologize for hurting your feelings before we've sodded you off."

Ben rolls his eyes, but to his credit, Fred can see the slightest pull at the corner of his mouth.

Fred taps a beat on the table to fill the resuming silence, and he lets out a low whistle. "So, do you want to do the honors, or shall I?"

"You do it," Ben says quickly. "I…just…you do it. I can take notes."

As much fun as he thinks it might be, vanishing a snail, Fred lets out an irksome moan at his partner. "I think I'd rather see you do it," he tells Ben, hoping he receives it as a compliment. "You're smart, aren't you? Maybe you'll even get it on the first try."

The Ravenclaw's face looks even paler than usual at his suggestion, and his mouth tightens until it's pressed into a thin line. "I-I can't."

"Can't what?"

"The spell."

"What about the spell?"

Ben's face turns irate, and his arm bursts out from his side in an attempt to bring attention to the snail on the table, pointing at it. "Are you being stupid on purpose? I can't do the spell. You do it."

"Well, yeah, I suppose you can't do it if you haven't even lifted your wand," Fred replies incredulously. "I hear you sort of need to give spells a go a time or two before it works, so I'm not expecting any miracles or anything."

"You're not hearing me. I said I can't do it. I won't."

"Aw, c'mon, mate. What's this all about, then? I know I'm not exactly the partner you had in mind-"

"-No," Ben interrupts effectively, cutting Fred off. "This…this has absolutely nothing to do with you. I wouldn't care if Rowena herself was sitting beside me, I can't do it."

"…Is this the part where I'm supposed to, I don't know, give you an inspirational speech and tell you the story of The Little Bowtruckle That Could? Because I'm afraid I'm really not the hand-holding type."

"No. If you don't want to do it, neither of us will. But I'm not."

What the hell? Fred thinks confoundedly. How would Vance even know he couldn't do it if he hadn't even tried? McGonagall had even said she hadn't expected much success from today's trials, so what was his problem?

"Fine," he says with a sigh. "I'll be the brains of this operation."

"…Thanks."

He rummages his brain for ideas, and his thoughts waft back to the back-and-forth between Ben and McGonagall only moments ago. Had he been upset by something their professor said? Was this some sort of shitty protest?

Fred fidgets uncomfortably, unsettled by the doom-and-gloom expression on his partner's face. "It's a Vanishing Spell, not a curse. I don't think the snail will come back and haunt us."

"I'm not worried about that."

"You were asking all those questions about ghosts, so I just figured…" Fred trails off for lack of anything else to say. "Is that what's got you all tied up in knots?"

Ben turns slowly away from him, arms crossed again protectively over his chest. He says nothing.

Fred shrugs. "If you've got a ghost chasing after you or something, I hardly think that choosing not to practice this spell's going to help you much."

"That's actually sort of the problem, unfortunately. No ghosts that I'm aware of."

"You want a ghost chasing after you?!" Fred blurts out with a chuckle. "Bloody hell, Vance, if you're in need of some mates, I've just offered my friendship. There's no need to get so desperate you need to spend time with the dead."

The dark-haired boy flinches as though he's been struck, and Fred's surprised that the laugh he'd been attempting to crack has somehow soured. "Really?" Ben asks him quietly, his eyes narrowed in hurt. "Godric, how insensitive can you be?"

What was so insensitive about making a comment about his partner's apparent desire to hang out with dead people? Who in their right mind would ever want to do that? It was enough that the trapped souls of Hogwarts wandered through the halls like it was some sort of play park, what kind of person would want them as company?

Fred finds himself so confused that he, quite literally, begins to wrack his mind for anything that would make sense for the situation that wasn't certifiable insanity. Then, he remembers a foggy memory of his mother dropping them off on the Hogwarts Platform their First-Year.

"You both are to be kind to those children, do you understand?" Mum had warned them. "They haven't got a father anymore…if you can't be kind, then stay far away."

"…Oh," he says, realizing it out loud and saying it more to himself than to the boy beside him. "Oh."

Ben glances over at him warily, and upon seeing Fred looking more than a little shame-ridden at his realization, gives him an unfeeling smile. "You can't vanish a ghost if there's no ghost to vanish, I suppose," he replies oddly. "Hardly seems fair."

Fred rubs at the back of his neck in discomfort and briefly contemplates sending George an unsubtle look to come to his rescue, but he knows there's little he can do but apologize.

"I… Look Vance, I definitely didn't mean to insult your dead dad, if that's what you think."

It's not exactly an apology, and if his mother had heard his brutishness, she certainly would have slapped him into the next week.

"No worries. I, er, don't expect much from you, truthfully," Ben tells him, his voice much calmer than it was earlier in their conversation. Perhaps he's used to this; the dismissiveness, the way children with two parents always seem to forget that not everybody's nearly as lucky.

He doesn't feel this way often, but Fred can't help but feel sort of awful about opening his big, fat gob. In a strange way, it reminds him of Harry, and he thinks that maybe every kid without a parent gets that same, wistful look in their eye when they watch people come to the realization of what's missing, every time it happens.

He and George are the last people who should've forgotten that the patriarch of the Vance family was dead. They'd gotten more than enough reminders from their mother over the years, after the whole accident with Ben in their First-Year, hadn't they? He'd heard enough rumors throughout his time at Hogwarts about what exactly happened to the Muggle named Richard Vance- conspiracies ranging from suicide to murder- because if students here were known for anything, it was their blatant disregard for the feelings of their lesser peers.

"So your dad…he didn't become a ghost, I assume," Fred states.

"No. Unfortunately not."

"That… that's rough, mate."

"I… I don't want to vanish it…the snail, I mean," Ben explains, changing the conversation with a melancholy tone. "It doesn't feel fair to kill it."

How else are we supposed to learn this, mate? Fred wants to ask but uncharacteristically stops himself. "I'll do it," he tells him. "…But you're not going to have a fit when I do, right?"

"It's pretty presumptuous that you think you're going to do it at all."

"I just want to know if you're going to go mad or not. Because if you are, maybe you should…I don't know, stare at the wall or something."

"Then how am I supposed to take notes for the assignment?"

Fred nearly throws up his hands. "Merlin's left tit, Vance, I'm trying to be sympathetic, here!"

"Okay," Ben says quietly. "Just…try not to hurt it. I won't go mad if you don't hurt it."

The Gryffindor is starting to feel more and more apprehensive at this whole ordeal, if only because he's starting to think Ben might burst like a deck of Exploding Snap cards, and George would probably throttle him if he upset Eleanor's brother. "I'm not going to hurt the stupid snail," he sighs tiredly. "Or at least, I don't think I will."

Ben gives him a careful smile, not malicious but off-kilter all the same, and tilts his head to the side. "I don't know, Weasley," he says. "You said something to me in First Year that sounded awfully similar."

Fred ignores him and waves away his words, a tiny, foreign feeling he thinks might be the very early festering of guilt, crawling at the pit of his stomach. "Well, anyway," he says distractedly. "If it's any consolation…going back to the whole ghost-thing, my friend Harry's an orphan."

The Ravenclaw blinks at him. "You're talking about Harry Potter."

"Obviously, Vance, how many other orphaned-Harry's do you know?" he quips, waving his wand and muttering Evanesco under his breath to no avail. The snail- the dumb little creature it is- looks completely unbothered by Fred's flailing.

McGonagall might've been right- this spell is a little harder than it looks.

Ben pulls a piece of parchment from his bag along with a quill, and in a neat, tidy script, scrawls 'Attempt #1: Failure.' Fred's left eye is dangerously close to twitching.

"So Harry," he says agitatedly. "He's an orphan. He never knew his parents, or I guess, technically he did, he just can't remember them now. Guess they didn't become ghosts, either."

Fred tries the spell again, and the snail is still dragging itself across the table almost mockingly. Ben picks up his quill again and writes something down Fred chooses to ignore. "Why would that make me feel better?" Ben asks him.

"Well, because you're kind of lucky in comparison, I suppose. At least you knew your dad, right? And you've got a Mum. A ghost-dad wouldn't really change much."

Ben's quill stills mid-sentence, and his gaze strays ahead of him, looking at nothing. His eyes look suddenly look far away, and slowly, he cranes his neck up from the parchment in front of him until he's looking at the redheaded boy.

"And you've got all those memories of him, don't you? That seems like it'd be a little easier than not knowing your parents at all," Fred says with a sad sigh. "Yeah, definitely easier. Plus, I bet your dad left you all sorts of great stuff behind, even if he was a Muggle, and none of its probably as fun as magical things."

"Fred?"

"And George and I, our Mum and Dad are always chasing down our throats. Mum especially. We get Howlers nearly once a week, now," Fred continues, eyes focused on the snail. "Sometimes I wish I only had one parent. At least then, we'd only get scolded by half…well, maybe that's not true. It's better to have both parents, I don't want to sound ungrateful…"

"Fred…please stop talking."

"-But I suppose if I had to choose one parent, I think I'd choose my Dad. Don't get me wrong, he can be a bit of a hardarse when he wants to be, and I love my Mum to pieces, but it's terribly hard to get away with things when she's constantly watching us like a hawk…"

"-Fred."

Fred looks up from the snail and turns to his partner, only to see that Ben has begun to pack up his belongings though the end of class is nowhere in sight. He can feel his face slacken in shock as he watches the boy shove his quill into his bag, almost shoving the parchment alongside it but seemingly thinking better of it, and he leaves it on the table. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" Fred demands.

Ben adjusts his robes with shaky hands, his face pinched indecipherably.

Fred feels his temper flare. "You can't just leave. I'm not doing this by myself!"

"Oh well," Ben replies with an unmistakable shudder. "I don't give a flying flobberworm about any of this."

Good Godric, is he about to cry? We haven't even vanished the damned snail, yet!

"What's your problem, Vance? You were fine a minute ago!"

He can feel a few pairs of eyes looking at them from neighboring tables, watching Ben prepare himself to storm out through the classroom door. "You know, Weasley," he says quietly, raising himself from his chair as though he's trying to bolster the courage to say whatever he means next, though he refuses to meet Fred's eyes. "Even when you and your brother think you're being kind, you somehow manage to muck it up."

"Is…is this about the fucking snail?!"

Ben wrestles with his tie, prying it out from underneath the strap of his satchel and smoothing it around his collar, and he lets out a strange laugh. "I don't think you're a bad person," he tells him softly. "I just don't think you're much of a person at all, really. You and your brother… neither of you know how to be people."

McGonagall turns towards them and her eyebrows fly high onto her forehead as she realizes that Ben is all but out the door, and she stalks over to their table. "What is the meaning of all this commotion?" she asks them seriously. Ben glances away from her, and without another word, he leaves the class completely.

Fred's not sure if he's quite processed what's just happened, but the classroom suddenly grows very quiet at Ben's absence. Perhaps all the noise has faded into the background as his mind latches onto Ben's parting words, but his head is buzzing in disarray.

Professor McGonagall holds up a warning hand to her students, forcing them all to halt midway through their assignments, as she follows after his runaway partner. Fred distinctly hears another chair somewhere behind him screech against stone, and turning his head, he watches as another dark-haired Ravenclaw flees from the classroom. She holds none of her belongings in hand, her materials still strewn across her table and a pot of spilled ink pouring out over the floor.

Whispers hum around him now that their professor has effectively left them all behind, and painfully, he turns his head around even further.

He meets a pair of identical brown eyes across the room. George stares back at him, and for the first time, his brother's expression is indecipherable.

A/N: Hello everyone! Please enjoy this latest chapter...I'd love to know what you all think. We're starting to see some depth to the Vances feelings on the Weasleys, which will slowly be uncovered further. Please leave a bookmark, kudos, and/or review!